


a little bit closer

by Hokuto



Category: Dark Tower - Stephen King
Genre: Dancing, Fix-It, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 11:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11668434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hokuto/pseuds/Hokuto
Summary: It's a quiet night for once, and Lupe's in the mood to dance.





	a little bit closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Delphi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this! I'm sorry it's not longer...

Quiet nights at Home don't come a dime a dozen; they're not even a once in a blue moon kind of deal. But tonight––ah, tonight the stars have aligned, the moon is blue, and the DJ on the busted-ass boombox in their office knows all the songs that Lupe loves.

Rowan's cleaning up the kitchen with a couple of the guys and everyone else is already in bed, at a meeting, or just keeping to themselves. That leaves Lupe alone in the office, sharing the desk with the books and the radio and Don, and he couldn't be happier. Sure, at first he had been glad to dump the accounting on Don, who had a better head for numbers and making them come out right, but no job at Home can't use a little help now and then. And when it's quiet, with nothing but the radio on low and Don scratching away on a notepad, when he's got Don all to himself––that's worth a little wrestling with the books.

The summer is shaping up to be a scorcher. Even this late, the office is stuffy and close, and they're working with shirtsleeves rolled up and a fan whirring along behind them, loud and useless. Lupe's never minded the heat, and he's not about to complain when it gives him a chance to appreciate Don's exposed arms, too. They're nice arms. Hairy, strong, clean––Don's been pretty good at taking care of himself, at least since he showed up at Home, and Lupe can dig it.

More than he should dig it, maybe, since Don technically is an employee. Looks bad, putting the moves on someone when you're the boss, no matter how casual they keep things around Home.

But the last strains of one song fade out and a guitar plunks out a few familiar, well-loved notes for the next, and one more second of sitting is going to send Lupe over the edge. He puts his pencil down and gets up and says, "Hey, Don?"

"Hmm?"

Lupe slides around the desk––a battered hulk that Rown had picked up off a corner and Lupe had sweated over for hours with sandpaper and wood polish––and holds out a hand. "Time for a break. Want to dance?"

Don's face reddens all the way to the tips of his ears, poor pale bastard. "Ah, I don't––I can't dance, really."

"Tell you a secret," Lupe says, "I can't, either. Huge family scandal, it's the real reason they threw me out. Two minutes and then it's back to all the numbers you can eat." His body's already moving to the beat, and he beckons with his fingers, _come on_.

"I don't know..."

That's when the chorus starts up, and Lupe can't resist. "A little bit closer, you're my kind of guy," he sings––badly, he hasn't had a decent singing voice since it broke and he got kicked out of children's choir, and the words don't match up right. It's been a while since he heard this one. "So big and so strong––just a little bit closer––I'm all alone, and the night is too long––"

"You are terrible," Don says, but he scrapes his rickety folding chair back, reaches out with his good left hand and takes Lupe's forearm just below the elbow, and Lupe takes his and pulls him up and into the office's cramped square of open space.

Don's right, he can't dance. Stiff, no rhythm, no swing, but God help him, he's willing, and Lupe's got no room to talk anyway. He keeps nearly banging his hip into the desk or stepping on Don's feet, but hell, he's having fun anyway. The heat of Don's arm and the play of his ropey muscles under Lupe's hand, his big awkward body swaying close to Lupe, and oh no, now he's smiling, laughing at how ridiculous they have to look shuffling around the office, and Lupe laughs with him. Yeah, they're ridiculous, and it feels good, seeing Don loosen up, smile for once, give in and dance as Jay and his Americans sing about the girl with the really bad taste in men. Lupe could do it forever: just dance, clumsy and laughing, that cheesy music in the background and Don almost in his arms, swinging in almost close enough to kiss.

(Lupe's dreamed about kissing him again: not some friendly little peck on the cheek, either, this time. No, when he dreams he's bending Don back and sweeping him off his feet, the whole V-Day sailor and nurse package, open mouths and tongues and hands where they shouldn't be in public, and if there was just a little more room in the office not taken up by that monstrosity of a desk...)

But it's a tiny office and a two-minute song, already winding down with a final flourish of guitars, and when the next one fades in they say at the same time, "Fucking again!"

"Jinx, gimme a Coke," Lupe says first, and then they're both cackling while Elton John works his way towards someone saving his life tonight, for what Lupe thinks must be the millionth time just this summer. They've joked about it before, how that song keeps popping up everywhere; of course it's going to break up the most fun Lupe's had all week.

"All right," Don says once the laughing fit's over, still flushed and smiling. "I'll owe you that Coke tomorrow––I really have to get these finished tonight," but his hand is still on Lupe's arm, hot and a little sweaty.

"Got it, break's over. Back to the oars with us both." Lupe doesn't break free yet either, lets his hand linger a moment longer; then he squeezes Don's arm and lets go so Don can go back to his side of the desk. "Thanks."

"No, thank you," Don says, his clear blue eyes fixed on Lupe's face. "That was––it was fun. I needed it. Thank you."

"The pleasure was all mine, man."

Lupe takes his chair and picks his pencil up again, but his concentration is shot and his heart's still singing a different tune. _Come a little bit closer..._

It's okay. So Don's been a little odd since he scared off those muggers back in March (he thinks they were muggers, anyway, or maybe 'bashers; they just slide out of his head when he tries to remember them. Adrenaline haze messing with him, maybe). So he's still shy, still scarred, still confused, still working out what he wants––that's fine. No problem. Lupe can be patient. He can take it slow. He can wait. It's a hot, gorgeous summer, this bicentennial summer of the tall ships, and when it comes to getting closer to stand-offish, recovering Donald Callahan––well, Lupe's got all the time in the world.


End file.
